
All throughout Fashion Week, I had one mission in mind: To sneak into the Project Runway show. I lingered around the Bryant Park tents last weekend, getting a feel for the place and mentally drawing up a plan as to how to sneak in without actually having my name on the list. I woke up early this morning prepared for battle. Of course, it ended badly.
(At right: The face of a reject.)
When I arrived at Bryant Park, I knew the main goal was making it inside the tents. At the Rock & Republic show the crowd waited in lines outside to check their names on a list; once inside, people were free to pretty much get into any show they wanted — kind of like a movie theater. It's not how it's supposed to work, but you can beat the system if you want.
So I marched up past the guards without looking at anybody, acting as if I was supposed to be there and I was late for an important meeting with Anna Wintour. It worked! I was silently congratulating myself on being awesome when I came upon the masses: Turns out the check-in was inside this time, and there were hordes of security making sure you had a special ticket or your name was on the list. There was no such thing as sneaking in with the crowd.
I monitored the situation for a good 20 minutes until deciding I would just insist my name was on the list and then beg for standing room because obviously there must be some mistake. Guess what? It didn't work. And I had stalled for too long: "You can't come in; they've already locked the doors and it's at capacity. Plus, your name isn't even on the list." Embarrassing. Of course, after I retreated and sat down in one of the lounge areas, I saw media whore Julia Allison come running inside in a ridiculous bright pink dress — and security let her right on through. What happened to the doors being locked?

The good news is I still got to see the show. Inside the tents are huge televisions broadcasting the shows live for everyone else — so that counted for something. I was prepared to see the final three (or four) Runway contestants, but was disappointed yet again when I realized all five designers that were left after Wednesday night's broadcast showed their collections as to not give away any spoilers. (Which is probably good, because when Sweet P and Chris March were the first two out I was shocked.)
That's not to say I didn't enjoy every moment of the show, because it was great. Victoria Beckham was in the front row looking very robotic, along with the Project Runway judges (sans Tim Gunn) and … Tyson Beckford. Turns out you can be an ass and still get on the list.
On my way out, I passed the Starbucks on the corner of 42nd Street and 6th Avenue where, on my second day of living in NYC, I interviewed for Jossip's internship. I felt like I had come full circle, and as I paused to reflect on the past five months I was interrupted by none other than Tyson, who was pushing past the crowd to get to his town car — without pausing for any pictures.



I love that Tyson is shaping up to be your nemesis.
Anyone who can smile through rejection is a winner, Whitney. Way to be positive!
you tried whitney! don't be down on yourself…next time, put on a cord jefferson mask and you'll find doors open for you wherever you go. especially at fashion shows and gay S&M clubs.
best,
james
You haven't seen the last of Whitney, Tyson Beck FORD@@!
i love that whitney's living out "the devil wears prada". i'm so jealous…i should be the one interning at jossip, living in a NYC studio apartment and having a secret office affair with cord while slowly helping him accept his homosexuality!
One day it would be awesome for you and Tyson to meet on an empty street - you dressed in white, he is black and then do a Zoolander walk-off.
Can we all be in the background-as back up for Whitney? You know, in case queencrone needs to regulate? (you all know how much I love to do that.)
awww, sorry u didn't get in. i personally would have burned the place down upon rejection. but that's why you're the intern and i'm just the poor college student starting small fires around campus.
I'm not going to be Billy Zane. Punk ass.
You have balls Whitney…….and I mean that in a good way.
Why didnt you run in 1 minutes before the start of the show with a dry cleaning bag draped over your shoulder and a spritz of fake tears running down your cheek urgently speaking german sounding gibberish.
Trust– its works!!!